


Just a Kiss

by ashes_of_roses (KendraLuehr)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: 'mama bloom' makes sure abigail looks all pretty, Age Difference, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Hanninewyear, May/December Relationship, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, New Year's Kiss, Older Man/Younger Woman, One Shot, and ofc no soiree is complete without freddie lounds, it's tradition, snapping pictures and causing general mischief, then abby decides she wants someone to make-out with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 17:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13059093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraLuehr/pseuds/ashes_of_roses
Summary: Dr. Lecter’s New Year’s party is the event of the season. With her proverbial shackles finally loosened, Abigail feels compelled to make a daring request. Will Graham isn’t quite sure how he feels. (one-shot)





	Just a Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick drabble I wrote for New Year's! Granted, 2018 is still a ways off, but I wanted to get this up and running well before the new year. When I wrote my mistletoe one-shot, I barely made the deadline, so this is progress! ;)

Despite her better judgment, Abigail had caved to Alana’s cajoling, and agreed to attend Hannibal’s New Year’s Eve party. It wasn’t like she had anything better planned (unless she considered therapy “plans”). So with Alana’s help, Abigail had selected a gown and fell into the ritual of grooming and self-care. Curling irons weren’t allowed at the hospital, but Alana had brought one with her that evening.

“I guess this is my prom,” Abigail bitterly said. “I never got to have one… My dad dove off the deep end just as Marissa and I started making plans.”

Alana set down the curling iron, gently rearranging a few ringlets around Abigail’s face. “Proms are a rite of passage for some people,” she agreed, “but you don’t have to let the ‘could have beens’ define you. I didn’t go to my prom either.”

“Really?” Abigail arched a disbelieving brow, looking at the other woman in the mirror.

“Really,” Alana said. “If my atrocious gowns weren’t any indicator, I walked to the beat of my own drum. I was against anything even remotely conformist.”

Abigail smiled at that, absently smoothing out the wrinkles in her gown. “I think Hannibal would be offended if you called his soiree ‘conformist.’”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” With a warm smile, Alana slid a barrette into Abigail’s hair before lifting the left strap of the girl’s dress. The plum-colored gown was backless, and far more daring than anything she’d ever had the pleasure of wearing.

“Is it too much?” Abigail asked, feeling foolish in her finery.

“Of course not. You look wonderful.” Giving the younger woman a squeeze around the shoulders, Alana smiled before motioning to the door. “Come on. We should probably go now if we want to get there early.” If there was anything Hannibal would’ve hated more than being called conformist, it was tardiness.

 

* * *

 

“This one?”

Hannibal nodded, seemingly pleased as Abigail rearranged the flower petals on the nearest dish. “Apply the sauce as well, if you wouldn’t mind.”

She did as he requested, wondering why Hannibal insisted on doing his own catering. It would’ve been so much easier to feed people with hired help, and yet here he was, clearly over-worked as he briskly moved from one end of the counter to the other.

“I will return in a moment,” he announced, his hands briefly passing over his apron. “It would seem I have left a most important ingredient in the pantry. Please excuse me, Abigail, and do your best with the sauce.”

She nodded, watching after him a moment before returning to the dish. But then something caught her eye.

In the entryway of the room, a couple was whispering (and _quite_ closely, too – she doubted Hannibal would like that) about with whom they were going to share their New Year’s kiss. Naturally, the two decided that _they_ would be one another’s partner, and as they walked off arm in arm, Abigail chewed her lip. She’d never really had the opportunity for a New Year’s kiss before… Could she possibly get one tonight?

“Abigail?”

She jerked, whirling around with wide eyes.

“Would you please go into the foyer with Alana and greet the guests? I see they are starting to arrive.”

Nodding, Abigail offered Hannibal a tight smile and ducked out of the kitchen, her palms growing damp as she clenched her fists.  _That_ certainly could’ve been a lot more embarrassing than it was.

Joining Alana out in the foyer, Abigail fell into the tedious role of the bright-eyed, bubbly hostess, greeting people she’d never met (and hoped she never would again). But just as she was ready to excuse herself, a familiar face appeared in the entryway and Abigail lifted her chin, her lips spreading into a simpering smile.

“Hi,” she said, giving Will a sly once-over. “I see your suit is free of dog hair, so I’m guessing this is a rental.”

Will’s mouth lifted into a smile. “I assure you, I _do_ have clothes not yet covered in dog hair. I keep them in a special dog-free room, like Bluebeard. A room full of secrets.” 

Will’s quip made Abigail smirk. Over the course of the past few weeks, Will had dropped off some books at her hospital, and for each novel, she’d left him little notes inside, pointing out what she liked, loved and loathed, and then she’d mailed them back, all the while wondering if he’d even bothered reading her exploration. And perhaps he had, because she’d read Charles Perrault’s fairytale near the end of the prior week. 

“That’s a pretty weak secret, all things considered,” she said. “It’s hardly worth hiding under lock and key.” Arching a brow up at him, she added, “You’re really stiff, by the way. I can’t tell if it’s because of the awful perfume I made the mistake of wearing, the ambiance, the potential threat of having to talk to people, or a combination of all three.”

Will chuckled. “I’ve already had to talk to people when I left my car. In that vein…” He trailed off, glancing over Abigail’s shoulder. “If you see a Countess von something-or-other approaching, please give me a heads-up.” He indicated an elderly lady patting Alana’s face with a bejeweled hand. “She apparently has a fondness for curly hair.”

Following Will’s gaze, Abigail suppressed a snort and looked back toward the front again, still grinning. “Are you trying to imply she’s a hair-puller? I dunno, Will, maybe you should go for it – she seems rich enough to sue Freddie on your behalf.” She chewed her lip, wondering how she could joke with such ease when it felt like there was a rock in her stomach. At this point in her life, adaptation was merely a second skin.

Beginning to nervously fiddle with the scarf around her neck, Abigail only raised her eyes when Will handed her a flute of champagne. In spite of herself, her mouth quirked and her eyebrow shot upward, her hand curling around the stem as she asked, “What, so now you’re willing to supply alcohol to a minor in  _public?_  You’re getting brazen, Will. Though in your defense, I  _did_  have a birthday last week, so I’ll only have to wait 11 more months and 23 days.” Taking a grateful swallow (more like three, since the glass wasn’t terribly full), she relinquished her drink with a jarring clang onto a passing tray. A bit sheepish, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Will, I have something I need to ask you…”

That was when Freddie made her grand appearance. Or rather, the sound of her phone camera was heard before her flaming red hair bobbed into view.

“Mr. Graham! Abigail!”

Abigail jerked, offering a smile as Freddie stopped directly before them. “Hi, Freddie,” she softly said. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“More than you are, from the look of things,” she replied, glancing snidely at Will. “Do you plan on continuing your book? I could set up an appointment with the hospital, if you’re ready for the next phase.”

“I am,” Abigail quickly assured her, “it’s just…I’ve been busy. With trying to get things sorted out.”

“Understandable. And I’m sure it can’t be easy with the FBI constantly breathing down your neck.” Again, Freddie looked to Will, but more pointedly this time. “Haven’t you got friends your own age, Mr. Graham, or are you hoping to antagonize a confession out of this poor girl?”

Abigail’s shoulders stiffened. “I’m not a kid, and I can take care of myself, thank you.”

“Either way, you should be leery about the companionship you keep, Abigail. You never know when it might bite you in the ass.”

“Snakes tend to do that,” Will crisply agreed. Lifting his gaze, he finally looked Freddie in the eye, practically spitting venom himself. “Bite you in the ass.” 

“Snakes also eat  _rats,_  Mr. Graham, so perhaps you should re-evaluate just where you lie on the food chain.”

Abigail cringed. Beginning to shift with discomfort, unsure of where she fit into this conversation, she gave a relieved exhale when Hannibal mercifully called for everyone’s attention. All the guests (even Freddie Lounds) turned with rapt eagerness as he began announcing the night’s menu. Then he made a beeline right for the three of them.

“Will! What a pleasant surprise,” Hannibal said. “I was under the impression you might not be attending tonight.” He took that moment to point Freddie in the direction of the buffet table. She soured and muttered about having a word at another time, then clip-clopped away in a blur of tacky finery and bouncy curls.

Derision and scorn evaporated from Will’s body, and his intended remark about bottom feeders died on his lips. “I was under the same impression, actually,” he said. “Uh…about my not attending.” Something about Hannibal in a social setting disarmed him. Here they were friends, not colleagues. Hannibal was not his psychiatrist, but his host, and so adored (how the society ladies fawned) while Will stood on the outskirts feeling entirely unworthy and out of place. His voice dipped as he indicated Freddie’s disappearing form. “Thank you for that, by the way.”

Hannibal’s smile was wolfish. “It was my pleasure,” he assured him. To Abigail, he added, “Would you care for a canapé? You did help make them, after all.”

With her lips spreading into a light smile, she reached out and plucked one off the tray. “They look great…thank you,” she said. “Are you finally done for the evening?”

“A good host is never finished with his work,” he admonished. “Speaking of…” Hannibal inclined his head toward a large circle of women. “I must speak with Mrs. Havenshire. She and I will be hosting a banquet for the cultural arts next month. Please excuse me.”

After she was certain that Hannibal was out of earshot, Abigail mumbled, “He’s really accomplished and well-liked… It must be nice to have positive public attention.” Her own was quite negative, but as long as she didn’t give her true name, nobody seemed to pay her any mind. Shaking her head, she added, “Nobody would suspect him of any wrongdoing… None at all.”

Will arched a brow. It was a curious thing to say, but he decided not to address it. Instead, he allowed, “Hannibal certainly does meet with public approval. I can’t say I’m envious, given my aversion to social situations.”

“Me too. Especially with parties that end in kissing,” Abigail agreed. By now, a delicate blush had crept up her neck and cheeks, even spreading down toward the curve of her breasts. As a child, she’d often been teased for this misfortune. When she was exceptionally flustered (like she was now), she tended to blush all over. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she gave a self-conscious laugh. “I didn’t even remember the whole kissing thing until I got here, actually… When you think about it, American traditions are kind of silly.” She waved a hand. “I mean, it seems that quite a few of them end in kissing, so it’s like they’re mostly just some cheap excuse to get some action.”

Will sensed her discomfort, so in turn, _he_ felt discomfited. “I’m not a huge advocate for traditionalism,” he muttered. “Mistletoe, New Year’s Eve, Valentine’s Day…I’ve never participated in any of those customs. Well, discounting _now,_ of course.”

Abigail spared him a skeptical glance. “Really? Not even Valentine’s Day?”

 _“Especially_ not Valentine’s Day.”

Pleased, Abigail clasped her hands behind her back, filled with relief at the thought of not being the only inexperienced person in the room. Or at least, not when it came to romantic traditions. Catching her lip between her teeth, she blurted, “Would you ever consider trying them? I-I mean, if the opportunity came up?”

“Trying what?”

“You know… _kissing_ traditions.”

Will glanced at her, twisting his mouth in thought. “Well that’s… _oddly_ specific. But if the right person came along, then yes, I suppose I’d give it a shot.”

Reeling with shame, Abigail checked the clock and squirmed when she took note of the time. It would be midnight in only a handful of moments. Didn’t bad things usually happen at midnight? …Or perhaps that was just in fairytales.

She took a breath. “W-well, um…since I’ve never really… Th-that is to say, I _want_ to, because…” She sighed, tensing in frustration. “I’ve never gotten to kiss someone before, at New Year’s or otherwise, so I was hoping you might show me…? Maybe?”

When Will’s eyes bulged, Abigail panicked and quickly held up a hand. “It’d be close-mouthed and chaste! I swear, we wouldn’t do anything too uncomfortable!” _Well, it was already too late for that…_

They stood there awkwardly, shoulder-to-shoulder as the tipsy partygoers began chanting the ever-anticipated countdown to midnight.

“Please?”

Will sighed, wiping a hand over his mouth and rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. “Haven’t you seen anyone, I don’t know, _younger_ around that you could ask?”

Abigail frowned. “I don’t _want_ younger, Will. I want you. And to be frank, what would a kid my age know about anything? There’s no way I’d meet someone who’s experienced as much as we have.”

“Is that what this is about? Experience?”

She scoffed. “You know, for a so-called ‘empath,’ you’re pretty clueless about what counts.”

They were silent for a long moment. With an even exhale, Will gave a feeble little nod. “Alright, fine,” he agreed, “I’ll do it. I’ll be your New Year’s kiss.”

“Well gee, no need to make yourself miserable,” Abigail bitterly said. “If you don’t want to kiss me, you don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Abigail looked up at Will then, studying his face as he vainly avoided eye contact. “Really?”

His expression was grudging, but he nodded. “I suppose you’re right – it _is_ a lot easier being around someone you don’t have to constantly explain yourself to.” He flashed a soft smile. “That, and you look quite beautiful tonight. I’m sure anyone would wish to kiss you.”

Abigail could feel her blush returning, and self-consciously, she fumbled for Will’s hand in an attempt at steadying her nerves. “It’s almost midnight,” she whispered. Teeth chewing into the soft pad of her bottom lip, she cringed as the shouts rapidly approached zero.

When an exceptionally drunk woman squealed “THREE!,” and absurdly loud, Abigail’s grip tightened about Will’s hand. He gently squeezed back. And when the countdown finally came to a halt, she turned her wide, questioning eyes to him as if awaiting further instruction. After all, there was no way she would ever move in first – what if she screwed things up?

Will’s hand was suddenly on her neck, guiding her in toward him and she quaked. Abigail drew a breath. Gripping at the lapels of his suit, she felt her mouth move awkwardly beneath his as he kissed her, her movements hesitant and clumsy as she attempted to mimic the soft movement of his lips. Emboldened by his embrace, Abigail opened her mouth and glossed her tongue over his, gently pulling on his hair as he angled into the kiss. _Well, so much for keeping things appropriate._

The drunken woman from earlier bumped into Abigail and she jolted, breaking the kiss with a panicked breath. Her eyes tilted up to Will’s and she cleared her throat. What should she say? _Thank you?_ That hardly seemed right…

With an amused twinkle in his eye, Will lifted a hand and brushed his thumb along the slope of her cheek. “Happy New Year, Abigail,” he murmured.

She beamed. “Yeah…maybe for once it will be,” she agreed. Before now, she’d never had much to hope for. But with the promise of a new year upon her (albeit under horribly morbid circumstances), she was actually allowing herself to dream. It would finally be alright. Without her father’s oppressive, damning influence, _she would be okay._

Squeezing Will’s hand, Abigail rose on her tiptoes and placed a quick, impulsive kiss against the stubble of his cheek. “Thank you,” she shyly said.

“For what?”

“For everything.” Allowing this vague remark to settle in, she hooked her arm through his and leaned into his shoulder, now leading him off as Freddie eagerly snapped pictures from behind a potted plant.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! :) I know it may seem like it, but there's not going to be a continuation to this one-shot. Whatever happens next is up to you! If you'd like to follow me on Tumblr, where I post art, gifs, fanfiction, etc. you can follow me at _musicboxmemories._ :)


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